Regency Valentines

by Jo Beverley

"I accepted, but now I don't think so."

  "Riverstoke is to be there, aunt. Remember, I'm to apply saintliness to the sinner."

  "Oh dear, oh dear...."

  "Therefore we must go."

  When they were in the coach, however, Lady Martineux was fretting at her gloves. "Is this wise, dear?"

  "The dowager," Agnes reminded.

  "But where Mrs. Drummond-Burrell leads…."

  "Then she should lead along a more Christian path."

  Lady Martineux moaned. "I do hope you're not going to play the martyr over this, Agnes."

  "I'm not going to play anything. Tonight I'm going to speak to the reprobate, and even smile at the reprobate. Tomorrow, if he cooperates, I may go driving with the reprobate. Then, simple duty done, I shall be free to return home and live a contented life."

  Chapter Two

  Then, simple duty done….

  When Agnes set eyes on the reprobate, her words seemed like a devil's joke. Nothing to do with such a man would ever be simple. She'd met the occasional rake and each had been disgusting in some way, whether he be slovenly, unhealthy, mentally loose, or showing even worse results of debauchery.

  The new Earl of Riverstoke was none of that. He stood talking to the Earl of Saxonhurst, who was a tall, tawny man, and another, darker gentleman. Riverstoke was as impeccably dressed as they in dark evening clothes and white linen. His hair was cut neatly short and he seemed in good health. To fit his role, he should at least have the dark locks of a gothic villain, but instead his hair was a common shade of brown. A villain should have eyes that burned with vile passions....

  Agnes turned away. She hadn't been able to tell his eye color, and thank the Lord, he hadn't looked her way and caught her staring, but she'd suddenly thought of the king of clubs. And of the danger the card had predicted.

  A foolish game. Nothing more. But Lucy was wed, and more remarkable, Jane had an admirer. A scholar on a walking holiday had become attracted to her and was lingering in Dux Cherrymead, causing a great deal of gossip.

  It was still all nonsense, but this situation was no game. Attendance at the ball was thin. A line dance had been in progress when they arrived, the music light and merry, but the atmosphere jangled. She heard “Ballard” and “Riverstoke” being mentioned all around. The three men stood isolated. A glance showed her that Riverstoke was coiled tight. That was hardly surprising given the reaction of many here, but a tight-wound coil could spring free, wreaking havoc.

  Anyone would think he was a leper.

  His contamination was vice, but Agnes knew many of the gentlemen here behaved badly, and some of the women, too. Of course a gentleman should never seduce a lady as he had, but in her opinion no gentleman should seduce a maidservant, or consort with whores. He was an outcast, however, and she was supposed to consort with him.

  The task hadn't seemed so difficult when she'd imagined him a seedy wretch. Now, she felt slightly sick. What might people think of her? That she was drawn by his tarnished appeal? She slid another look in his direction. Yes, he was a very handsome man. Then she saw Meg Saxonhurst, looking determinedly cheerful, and made her way over to her.

  "An interesting event," Agnes said.

  Meg rolled her eyes. "I could strangle Saxonhurst."

  "I doubt it. Strong neck, small hands."

  "You can be distressingly literal!" Meg complained, but she said it with a smile. She wasn't a beauty, but her smile was lovely and she had a certain glow. Agnes had come to suspect it was kindled by the devotion of her husband. That was something to make even a resolute spinster turn foolish, except that a man like Saxonhurst would never come into Agnes's orbit.

  "You're angry because he brought home Lord Riverstoke, I assume."

  "Not quite home, thank heaven. Riverstoke has rooms somewhere, but Sax insisted he be invited to the ball. Half my guests have failed to attend."

  "Is this his first appearance in polite company?"

  "Yes! Why choose my ball for his debut?"

  "Console yourself with the thought that it'll make it famous, and I'm about to enliven it even more. Introduce me."

  "What?" Meg asked, wide-eyed. "Of course not."

  "Why not?"

  "I'd be condemned by all."

  "Oh, I hadn't considered that. Then who could introduce me to him?"

  "No one. Truly, Agnes, what are you thinking?"

  "Christian charity. No one should be condemned out of hand. How can anyone know the story is true?"

  "There is that. All the same, I can't, Agnes."

  This was an unexpected barrier. "Who could?" Agnes asked again.

  "No one, honestly." Meg had been glancing around now and then, making sure her event was progressing as well as possible, and now she frowned at someone -- an ample lady, peculiarly dressed in the wide skirts of a former age.

  "Who's that?" Agnes asked.

  "The Dowager Countess of Cawle."

  "Somewhat of an oddity."

  "Shush. She's very powerful. What she approves is approved, and what she condemns is condemned, but she's eccentric about it."

  Agnes looked again at the countess. She was probably of an age with her aunt, but what a difference in presence. No hint of anxiety there, which perhaps explained the generous curves and smooth, plump face.

  "She might introduce me to Lord Riverstoke?"

  "She's capable of it, but..."

  "Then introduce me to her, please."

  "Are you sure? She's a dragon beneath that smooth exterior."

  "I'm familiar with dragons," Agnes said.

  The countess was ensconced on a sofa with three gentlemen of various ages paying court. Meg waited her moment and then presented Miss Abbott, niece to Lady Martineux.

  Rather sleepy eyes assessed Agnes, and then she was acknowledged. "Sit, Miss Abbott." To the gentlemen, she said, "I'm sure you should all seek partners for the next dance."

  They took their orders and left. Agnes sat, saying, "I wish I knew how to do that."

  Lady Cawle wafted a large fan. "At your age you should be more interested in gathering swains than dispersing them. The ton calls you Saint Agnes. Are you saintly?"

  "No -- except perhaps in contrast to the wickedness of much of polite society."

  "Easy to be a saint on those terms. How can I help you, Miss Abbott?"

  "You are willing to?"

  "Not if you're desperate to find a husband."

  "You don't approve of husbands?"

  "I think that, like land, they should be acquired with caution. There are many swamps, deserts and blasted heaths. You want one?"

  "Not of that sort. Not any. I'm rather desperate to return home to my tranquil single life."

  Those eyes studied her, and Agnes realized they weren't at all sleepy. "Safe, is it?"

  "I suppose so, but that is part of its charm."

  "What are its other charms?"

  This wasn't what Agnes wanted to talk about, but she supposed she must humor the woman a little. "The village, my friends, my garden, my books, my father's company. It's a pleasant life and I wish to return to it."

  "No lovers or admirers?"

  "I'm not that sort of woman."

  "Nonsense, but if you believe it, it will doubtless come true. How can I assist you to return to your dull existence?"

  Agnes wanted to argue various points, but she had a simple purpose here. "I wish an introduction to the Earl of Riverstoke."

  The countess blinked. "You surprise me, Miss Abbott, indeed you do."

  "It's not my doing," Agnes defended, knowing she was blushing. "It's my grandmother-"

  A raised hand stopped her. "Aurelia Martineux. A thoroughly unpleasant woman. Don't distress yourself over how to respond to that for I'm sure you agree. What's her interest in Riverstoke?"

  "He's her godson."

  "Probably explains his predicament, poor lad. Cursed at the font. What does your grandmother want you to do?"

  "Acknowledge him. Talk to him. Be seen with him
. I being saintly, you see, will dissolve some of his wicked ink."

  Plump lips smiled. "Not a foolish plan. Unpleasantness does not equate to stupidity. In fact, I find stupidity distressingly common among the pleasant, don't you?" She didn't wait for an answer, but gestured. A nearby gentleman came over, eager to serve. How did she do that?

  "Kindly request that Lord Riverstoke pay his respects, Knightly." The man went off and the dowager simply waited, observing the dancing. Agnes was tense from tête to toes, with a heart that raced rapidly enough to threaten light-headedness.

  Here he came, moving with notable elegance and a superficial relaxation, but he was alert, wary, and still coiled. For the first time she wondered how much courage it had taken to come here.

  He bowed with grace. "Lady Cawle, how may I serve you?"

  "Bring a chair over and sit." When he obeyed, Lady Cawle said, "I enjoy being the centre of attention, Lord Riverstoke, and you are distracting people from me."

  Agnes saw his lips twitch in true amusement. His eyes flickered to her once, wondering at her part in this, but then returned to Lady Cawle.

  His eyes were a light shade, grey perhaps, or a pale hazel, made striking by skin more sun-browned than hers. For some reason, that quick glance had tilted her world for a moment. She supposed a seducer must have powers, but they were unlikely to sway her.

  Seducer? He wasn't the slightest bit interested in her. Why should he be? That hadn't occurred to her grandmother -- that he'd not want her company at any price, no matter how saintly she was.

  He and Lady Cawle were conversing about London and about his family tree. The lady seemed to know it well.

  Lady Cawle turned to Agnes. "The previous earl was known as River Tick, from the extent of his debts."

  "An unfortunate inheritance, my lord," Agnes said.

  "Not a blessed one," he agreed, "especially with duties in train."

  He really was quite handsome. If she'd not known of his vices she would have called him attractive, but now she wanted to escape. Remember, this plan suits you, too. You want to become a minor scandal.

  "Duties, my lord?" Agnes asked, attempting a fetching smile.

  "I have a seat in the House and thus power, should I care to use it."

  "And will you?"

  "Of course. Who could resist?"

  "Quite a number of peers, I gather."

  "They probably have better things to occupy their time."

  "Your estates, my lord?"

  "All sold," he said, without visible distress. "River Tick broke the entailment and sold them off, and his son helped fritter away the proceeds before dying of drink. Now, now, Miss Abbott, don't look like that. Everyone has loose fish on their family tree, and I'm far removed from them."

  "But not notoriously virtuous," she retorted.

  Instantly she regretted it, and those eyes flashed coldly, but then he smiled, with lips at least. "No, I'm not notoriously virtuous. Do you waltz, Miss Abbott?"

  Agnes stared at him, shocked almost to dumbness. She knew how to waltz. In keeping her word she'd agreed to learn, and she had taken part in the scandalous dance a few times. As far as she was concerned, however, it was not right to turn and turn in a man's arms in public.

  His brows rose, demanding an answer, and she recognized that this was punishment for her remark. He didn't expect her to accept.

  "I suppose that would be permitted you," she said as calmly as she could. "Not a line dance where you would touch hands and perhaps more with other ladies, but the waltz, where you will dance only with me."

  "Precisely. Of course it's possible it will so outrage the righteous that everyone else will leave the floor, or even the house."

  That image evaporated all Agnes’s courage. "Then we mustn’t. I don't want Meg Saxonhurst's ball ruined."

  "It'll make it the talk of the decade," he said, echoing her earlier thought. “What do you advise, my lady?”

  Lady Cawle seemed genuinely amused. "Those who are here will stay, if only to be witness to yet further horrors, but there could be repercussions. You are very determined to remain a spinster, aren't you, Miss Abbott?"

  Agnes felt herself flush. "I'm committed to an act of Christian charity."

  "Well then," said the rake, "permit me to be your ladder to heaven." He rose and offered his hand. "Shall we stroll as we wait for the waltz, Miss Abbott?"

  Remember the plan, Agnes told herself, as she stood up. This should get her back to Dux Cherrymead tomorrow. She curtsied to the countess, and took his hand.

  How did he make that gloved contact seem wicked? Linking arms with him, she strolled around the room, making sure to smile as if all was right with her world.

  He smiled, too, as he asked, "What did that mean, Miss Abbott -- determined to remain a spinster?"

  Agnes looked ahead. "A brush against scandal will ensure that no man will offer me marriage."

  "You are bedeviled by suitors?"

  She ignored the implied insult. "Clearly not, but there's always the danger of one desperate case. I do have a portion of four thousand pounds."

  "You really shouldn't wave such temptation before a desperate man."

  "Fortunately my father would not approve a marriage to you, sir."

  "But you are of age. He has no say."

  "He does with me."

  "A dutiful daughter. How charming. I see that your plan is working. There are many scandalized looks, but to make the most of it you really should look more pleased with me, you know."

  Agnes turned her smile on him, attempting to make it warmer. "A challenge, but I'll do my best."

  Before she could react, he captured her free hand and kissed it, looking into her eyes with apparent devotion. When she opened her mouth to protest, he said, "Just helping the cause. We could go even further if you wish.”

  He'd paused them, so she moved onward, cheeks hot, aware of being the focus of too many eyes. She tried to keep the smile as she said, "Don't be disgusting. If you want the full truth, I was ordered to this by your godmother."

  "Who the devil is she?"

  "Don't swear, sir. The Dowager Lady Martineux."

  "How odd. I’m not aware of her giving me a silver spoon, never mind sending Bibles and sermons, yet now she sends me a martyrish maiden.”

  "She sent you a saint, my lord." When he looked a question she said, "The ton has labeled me Saint Agnes.”

  “Why?”

  “Out of foolishness, but my grandmother has commanded me to this in the hope that some of my saintly purity will brush off on you."

  "Are you saintly? I thought saints were supposed to refrain from unkind remarks and turn the other cheek when attacked."

  "They are also supposed to fight demons and face lions without fear."

  "Or torture. I have always been deeply grateful not to be a saint."

  "The reward for torment comes in the next life."

  "So chancy, don't you think? We know we have this one, but the next is not proved, so why not enjoy the life we have to the full? Speaking of which, the waltz begins."

  Agnes almost backed out. She hadn't enjoyed her previous attempts at the waltz, and those dances had been with ordinary men. Lord Riverstoke was not ordinary at all. She'd never met a man who could so easily make her unbalanced, or so easily anger her.

  To retreat would show fear, however, and so she went onto the floor with him, yes, in a martyred frame of mind.

  The first steps were much like an ordinary dance except that there was more hand-holding and the couples stayed together, but then the turn began. She had to face him, had to put her hand on his sleeve as his came to her waist as they turned, looking into one another's eyes. Their bodies almost brushed together at the front, and turning seemed designed to drive all good sense out of a woman's head.

  When they separated to simpler steps, progressing as a couple with others in a big circle, she breathed again and assessed reactions all around. A number of people still watched them, but many had fou
nd better things to do.

  When they came to the waltz step again, she was determined to converse. "So, my lord, without estates how will you live?"

  "On my wits, Miss Abbott, as usual."

  "Was Miss Hurst an heiress?"

  "No. Doubtless why I didn't bother marrying her."

  They separated again and Agnes regretted her challenging words. He made her so angry, and she wasn't sure why.

  When they came together again, she said, "I apologize, my lord."

  "Why?"

  "Because I know nothing of you and Miss Hurst but gossip, and should not judge."

  "Jupiter, you are a saint."

  "Not at all."

  They were loosed again, thank heavens, but inevitably returned.

  "You’re not a saint?” he said. “So how are you sinful? The seven options are wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. I suspect all humans are guilty of them all. Even lust," he added, forestalling her. "It’s possible to lust in the privacy of the mind."

  Agnes became powerfully aware of his hand on her waist, and of his fingers pressing on her back in a way that was surely unnecessary.

  "I'm sure you have done so, frequently," she retorted.

  "Rarely, as it happens. So much less exhausting to simply... lust. I wish your bodice were lower, Miss Abbott. Which is your primary sin?"

  "At the moment, sir, wrath."

  With that, Agnes could separate again, but how long did this devilish dance last?

  Only one more turn to be endured.

  “I suspect you’re also prideful, Miss Abbott. You have a haughty way with you.”

  “Haughty? I do not.”

  “Secure in your prideful virtue.”

  Thank heavens the dance ended then, and they must part to curtsy and bow.

  He amiably returned her to her aunt, who looked as if she sat on a pincushion, poor lady. Agnes sat beside her. "There, duty done."

  "Was it really necessary...? But indeed, your grandmother can't claim you’ve shirked your task. Ah, here comes Mr. Wivenhoe. Thank heavens. I do believe he's going to ask you to stand up in the next set. I was so afraid…."

  That after the scandalous waltz no man would dance with her again.

  Agnes had expected the same, but she had to endure another dance. Mr. Wivenhoe was a pleasant enough partner and she doubted he'd try to marry her. She resolutely did not look to see where Lord Riverstoke was, or what he was doing.